


With Hands Folded

by thelinksthatconnectus (orphan_account)



Series: Disability Fest Fics [2]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Odyssey - Homer
Genre: Blind Character, Canon Disabled Character, Character Study, Disability Fest, Disabled Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in the underworld, Tiresias reflects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Hands Folded

They said that the land burned with fire, but all that Tiresias felt in the land of the dead was the bitter, all consuming cold. It covered him, like a blanket of the finest frost had been sewn together - light to the touch, yet deceivingly chilly. That was the first thing that he took notice of in the underworld. It was only later that he heard the weeping and screams, yet they were too far away for him to try and stop.

The visions did not stop when he came to the underworld, far from it. The longer that his bones turned to ice and chills ran up his spine, the more images that his mind showed him. Most were unconnected - visions could be a tricky thing, and not everyone could so expertly deal with them. Most of what he saw was unrecognizable - surely even a seeing man could not put it together. The things he saw usually were not what he recognized, something that he had never felt with his hands or heard in the world. With nothing to put a name to, and no one to ask for help, he sat and let the cold take him.

The spirits did not come for him. Perhaps because he had no blood to drink, or perhaps because the spirits no longer had anyone to call out to. Their lives were over, and they were nothing but memories - ghosts held together in the land of the dead.

Perhaps, he thought, when the world was so cold, perhaps his life was over as well.

Still, the visions came. Why anyone admired him for it, he did not know. Surely the confusion would bother any poor soul, and the regular devotion would bother a common man who only visited temples when necessary.

Beneath the earth, Tiresias prayed, calling out to the god of the sun that had not touched the prophet's skin in ages unknown.

If the deity heard his prayers, then all Tiresias received in reply was more visions.

It was not until the footsteps came, heavy and yet still slightly hesitant, that an image came to mind. Though he could not see the man, Tiresias knew that he must be the hero that had haunted the space behind his eyes.

Whatever he did not know, Apollo would surely teach. As the footsteps grew closer, the noise and the vibrations ran through Tiresias's skin, he knew that things were going to change.

For a moment, the prophet warmed.

**Author's Note:**

> Please call me out if this is incorrect in anyway and/or accidentally offensive to those who are legally blind. Though I am disabled, I am not blind. Though I have done research, I just want to make sure that I didn't accidentally mess up in any way.


End file.
